


More

by Eiderdown



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff without Plot, Light Angst, M/M, Morning After, Romantic Fluff, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiderdown/pseuds/Eiderdown
Summary: Dorian and the Inquisitor both agreed they were looking for something beyond fun or a port in a storm the night before and Dorian allowed himself to hope. In the morning, he's no longer sure if that was wise.Fluff featuring only the lightest and gentlest of angst!





	More

Dorian cracked a bleary grey eye open and winced at the bright sunlight streaming through a wall of windows to his left.  _ The room of the bloody Inquisitor himself and nobody can be bothered to put in any damned drapes. _ He turned away with a groan to pull the thick blankets over his head, reaching out for Hawthorn’s warm friendly body next to him. After groping nothing but empty space and blanket, he risked the sunlight again to squint around the room and the longer he contemplated it, the more his stomach sank.

His clothes were laid neatly at the foot of the small bed. However, Hawthorn’s clothes from last night were conspicuously missing and no note was in evidence, either on the low table in front of the couch or on the mantle above the cold fireplace.  _ Well,  _ Dorian thought bleakly, _ I really should have expected this. So much for “more.” _ It was easy enough to whisper sweet nothings by candlelight, but morning always came eventually. How many times was he going to fall for this? Once should be enough, but that particular lesson just wouldn’t stick. He grabbed his clothes and began working roughly on the innumerable clinking buckles. Time to slink back to his room and start pretending like none of this had mattered while avoiding eye contact. Now there was a lesson that had stuck with him.

The click of a shutting door and the distinct clinking of plates and silverware broke through his cloud of despondent thoughts. As Dorian turned to look, he saw a familiar blond head pop above the bannister as Hawthorn came up the stairs on the other side of the room, a tray and kettle balanced precariously together. The elf paused for a moment at the top of the stairs and smiled warmly at Dorian. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I was waiting for you to wake up, but I got hungry so I asked the kitchen to send up breakfast.” The tray clinked softly as he gently placed it on the low table in front of the couch.

Hawthorn continued his companionable monologue while Dorian stared at him wide-eyed. He was still here and his long hair was falling soft and loose around his face and shoulders. He was still here wearing last night’s clothes with his shirt untucked and mostly unbuttoned. He was still here and... breakfast was ready? Eventually Hawthorn looked up from unloading the tray, lifting an eyebrow. “Everything okay? I could bring this over to the bed if you’d like me to.”

Dorian shook his head dumbly and managed to mumble, “Crumbs in the bed? Pure barbarism.”

Hawthorn snorted and continued sorting the various breads, cheeses, and fruits. “So I was thinking, I don’t have a meeting until late afternoon today. Paperwork’s all caught up for once too. We can lay around all morning and then have lunch if you’re not busy.”

Dorian’s voice didn’t seem to be working at the moment. It probably had something to do with the lump in his throat. On the bright side, he could still blink stupidly.  As he stared in silence, Hawthorn looked away sheepishly, pushing a few strands of hair over a pointed ear. “It’s fine if you’re busy…”

_ Come on, Pavus. Pull yourself together. _ He coughed to clear his throat and managed to say, “No! No, not busy at all. My social calendar is lamentably empty.”

Hawthorn beamed widely enough to rival the sun shining through the windows. “Well, get over here then or I swear by the Dread Wolf I’ll eat it all myself.”

Dorian finally found his feet and tried to regain his mental equilibrium under the guise of being very careful regarding the straps on his shirt. Blessedly oblivious, Hawthorn continued to fill up the silence as he struggled to adjust to reality. “The meeting’s not until late afternoon because it’s with Lady Marchand. She never rises earlier than late morning and she expects every meeting to be over a meal.” He tapped a knife thoughtfully on a plate of cheese. “She’s definitely my favorite so far.”

“Ah, is that the woman who smells like a rose nightmare and lectures anyone who’ll listen on the finer points of fabric trims?”

Hawthorn chuckled. “Exactly. The history of lace is very interesting, believe it or not, so that’s another point in her favor. I make sure to sit at the other end of the table where the rose isn’t so nightmarish though.”

“Well,” Dorian muttered, making his way to the couch and sinking down. “I suppose no one is perfect.” He was starting to feel almost normal again.

This was apparently the signal Hawthorn had been waiting for as he immediately snagged a large piece of bread and plopped an oversized piece of cheese on it. Before he could take a bite, Dorian, seeing a chance to gain some ground back, swooped it from his hand.

“Hey, you know there’s more than enough here if you-” Hawthorn protested, but Dorian cut him off with a flourishing gesture.

“I think we can do better than merely plain bread and cheese for the Inquisitor, don’t you? Allow me.” He snapped the fingers of his empty hand and a small flame flared up and stayed dancing over his palm. He carefully held the bottom of the bread slice over it and swirled it around. He inspected it critically and then switched the flame to the top. As the cheese bubbled, he made a show of intense concentration. Once it met his approval, he nodded gravely and slid it onto a plate. “And there we are. Expertly made especially for you with the most eldritch forbidden magic Tevinter has to offer.”

“Why do we even bother with fireplaces with you around?” Hawthorn moved to grab the newly-toasted bread, but received a sharp rap to the knuckles.

“Patience, amatus. You’ll burn yourself.” Hawthorn rolled his eyes. “Fireplaces,” Dorian continued grandly, “are for lesser men.” He flourished the hand with the flame underneath the kettle. “You have to heat these more slowly or the metal cracks. I lost a fair few kettles experimenting with it.”

As soon as both of his hands were occupied, Hawthorn immediately grabbed for the cheese toast and ended up juggling it from hand to hand. It was Dorian’s turn to roll his eyes. “I did tell you it was too hot.”

Hawthorn pointedly ignored him and said again, “I didn’t know you could do that. Why didn’t you mention it before?” Dorian snorted as he watched him attempt to cram most of the cheese toast in his mouth at once.

“Because I only provide this level of service to you, you know. You do it once for most people and suddenly all you hear is,” and he raised his pitch obnoxiously, “Dorian, toast this bread. Dorian, warm up my cold tea. Dorian, burn these incriminating documents.”  He shook his head. “And it’s literally only three steps to the bloody fireplace.”

Hawthorn tipped his head back and laughed exuberantly. A beam of the morning light caught his hair and lit it into gold. Dorian thought,  _ His hair is gold. His laughter sounds like music. He has crumbs all over his face. _ He tried not to stare and applied himself studiously to boiling the water.  _ So this is “more” then. This is what “more” feels like. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic, yay! I hope you enjoyed the fluff. Constructive criticism more than welcome in the comments.


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